


rose gold

by sirmeepy



Category: Layton Kyouju Series | Professor Layton Series
Genre: Gen, Unwound Future timeline
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-02-19 16:06:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13127124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sirmeepy/pseuds/sirmeepy
Summary: to achieve the impossible.





	rose gold

**Author's Note:**

> i completely gave up in the 2nd half of this story yolo also sorry i suck at summaries  
> to my friend whim, may you feel less "shocked, tired... and sad."

It's startling to think that they have travelled ten years into the future, but the man (boy?) that stands in front of them now is a testament to the fact. Despite the soft smile and the familiar air to the young man, Flora hesitates. She still feels a hint of nervousness around new people.

But it's Luke. A ten years older Luke, but Luke nonetheless.

Still, something feels different. She can't quite place her finger on what.

She glances at the boy beside her, the Luke she knows, and she tells herself to relax. She feels herself relax; there's a comforting presence to both Luke and the Professor.

So she smiles at the man claiming to have come from ten years into the future because it's Luke, and not Luke.

It's a pretty smile befitting a proper lady.

(his smile widens in return and he bows his head to her like a true gentleman.)

 

* * *

 

"Ah"—she feels a hand on her shoulder, unfamiliar—"watch your step, Flora."

"Oh," she mouths, and she reaches down to lift the hem of her skirt. She moves to face the older Luke but he has already taken his hand away from her shoulder and continued walking, beginning the descent down the staircase.

He stops for a moment, turning to look at her. "The stairs are a little steep—may I?"

She stares at his outstretched hand and feels her face warm.

Beyond him, she sees that the Professor and Luke have already moved ahead; at the bottom of the staircase, they have continued the investigation. She tries not to let out an indignant huff that  _they're leaving her behind, as usual_. Instead, she places her hand in the one offered before her.

His hand is firm around hers and her chest swells with pride at the gentleman that Luke has grown into.

 

* * *

 

"Um," she starts, her hands fidgeting with her sleeves, "can you tell me more about us? I mean—me, you, and the Professor in the future."

He blinks once, twice; then, "What do you want to know?"  


"Anything is fine. Anything about us. What is future Flora like?" she presses on. With the mystery around them beginning to unfold, there is less and less time to simply converse. But ever since the arrival of future Luke, she has wanted to know about how she fits into the picture.

He hesitates as though he has to think carefully about his words. "Ah, well, you grow into quite a lovely lady. Pretty like a flower, they say, but with a wit as sharp as a knife."

Her voice turns quiet, "Even so, do you still go places without me?"

He looks away then. "No, of course not. We quite enjoy your company; just worry for your safety at times. Anyway, you are quite capable."

The relief on her face is clear.

"Besides," he adds on, glancing at her with a small smile, "you make a very good cup of rose tea."

Her eyes light up at those words. "Do I? Oh, I have been practicing lately; tea is the drink of choice for both the Professor and Luke! But I guess you would already know that."

He laughs; the amusement doesn't reach his eyes. "Some tea would be nice about now, but I guess we have more pressing matters on hand."

She takes a step closer to him as she suggests, "Then, when everything calms down once more, I'll make you some tea."  


The edges of her lips quirk upwards and she doesn't have to force it. It feels right.

She adds promptly, "Promise!"

He looks at her, his face blank.

It's Luke, but not Luke.

"Yes," he says eventually, his mouth forming a thin line. "I'd like that."

(it doesn't feel right.)

 

* * *

He doesn't let himself feel anything when he sees the suspicion in their eyes, or the fear in hers. It's unfortunate that she's such a nice girl, he thinks, because she's nothing more than a sacrificial pawn in the grand scheme of things.

With the stunned girl in his grasp, he forces his plan into motion. London will soon face its demise and finally, finally he will have the justice he deserved so many years ago.

He lost everything, No one had ever apologized to him. No one understood.

The Professor had saved him that day. The Professor saved this girl too, he knows. So then... why wasn't  _he_ the one going on adventures around the world?

He tells himself that it's not fair, that it's too late now.

But he can't stop the sliver of hope that threatens to emerge, as hard as he tries to push it down.

 

* * *

 

In retrospect, he was never going to get away with destroying the entirety of London without facing any consequences. Even so, it wouldn't bring his parents back. But everything—the careful planning, the forged alliances, his feelings—it gave him a purpose. He survived for a reason; to live for something.

The  _something_ he crafted his life around crumbled in his hands within a matter of seconds.

For a moment, he doesn't feel anything.  


Is this what he's worked so hard for? Nothing but broken ideals?

Yet he's oddly tranquil.

Maybe he always wanted someone to stop him. No, that wasn't right—he wanted to be saved, truly saved.

They had saved him, and this time he knows: he will live for his atonement.

He likes to think that one day, he can see them all again. One day, he will forgive his own actions and allow himself reprieve.

Closing his eyes, he lets himself hope.

(one day, he might deserve the title of a gentleman.)

 

* * *

 

She silently watches as the police car drives off into the distance. She's not quite sure what to think. Next to her, the Professor places a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"I'm sorry," she mumbles eventually. "Maybe I could have done something—maybe I could have said something to him. Maybe I could have stopped him or slowed him down... But, it was scary—he wasn't Luke, but he wasn't a  _stranger._ "

"There is nothing for you to be sorry about, Flora," he reassures. "At that point, he had already made up his mind. Clive was not a bad man, truly, but—misguided."

"Still! I thought we were friends," she protests. "Were we really friends? ...It is so sad, that we had to separate like this."

"You know, Flora, life has a funny way of reuniting you with those you hold close to your heart." His eyes soften then, as though he's thinking back to a fond memory. "I had a close friend once, you see, who went missing for years. I thought it was my fault at the time as well. And despite how hopeless it seemed, against all odds, he returned."

"Really? Is that true, Professor?"

"I was very glad to see him once more." He nods with a smile.  "He's doing quite well now, actually."

Her face brightens at the revelation and she brings her hands up to her chest, over her heart.

"Then I do hope to see him again," she beams.

She likes to think that one day, as she's preparing a pot of rose tea for Luke and the Professor, the doorbell will ring and it will be an old friend just passing through town.

With a smile on her lips, she lets the hope blossom in her chest—she made a promise after all, and a proper lady does not break promises.

**Author's Note:**

> i don't really like writing re-tellings of scenes and whatnot but the timeline doesn't really allow for much more when writing about Clive w/ the main cast. and i'm not that creative lmao. no, i'm not breaking him out of prison.


End file.
